


Could We Have A Moment?

by Dogwood



Series: More Than Most [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Flirting, Skyhold, The Fade, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 02:04:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5809285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dogwood/pseuds/Dogwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lavellan tries to recount a salacious dream to a very patient Solas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Could We Have A Moment?

The sleeping draughts she'd been given for her insomnia worked, without question. The first night she'd taken one she'd barely made it onto the bed before sinking into a pool of dreamless sleep, viscous and deep and years long. 

When Lavellan woke the following morning, blinking at the dawn, fumbling to right herself, she decided her first course of action (after breakfast sausages) would be to speak to the human healer about altering the dose to something less potent, something more in keeping with an elf's smaller stature. 

The following night, with a corrected dose in her system, the side effects seemed to swing in a completely new direction. She continued to sleep through the night, as before, but her dreams became crisp, vivid things, colours bright, touch all the more real. 

Between the two options she supposed the vivid dreams were preferable, if only because she could _function_ upon waking.

One night, after several such nights of dutifully swallowing the bitter concoction before bed, she found herself alone on a sunny hillside - Fereldan by the looks of it. Lavellan squinted. A dream version of Fereldan, with a handful of verdant palms stubbornly existing side by side with the expected mossy firs and bare boulders. Truly the Fade could be a wondrous, ridiculous place. 

She settled herself on a sun-warmed patch of ground, stretching her legs in front of her and inhaling the scent of baked earth and dried grass. Private moments, free time, they were a rare commodity these days - if she had to dream to have some time to herself, there were worse ways about it.

"The medicine works! Excellent."

She opened one eye to peer at the interloper. The self-assured interloper with an almost imperceptible smile, leaning against a simple wooden staff. Due to the unorthodox hours he kept and her poor sleep schedule it had been some weeks since she'd seen Solas in dreams, and the sight was a welcome one.

"Are you the true Solas, or my imagination conjuring up more lovely scenery?"

"If you have your doubts," he said, laying down the staff and joining her on the adjacent patch of grass, "You need only ask in the morning, though I imagine that does you little good now."

" _Were you in my dreams last night?_ I'll ask over porridge, and see how many knowing looks we get."

"Not uncommon, even now."

So he'd noticed it as well. She would have to be more disciplined when it came to casually staring at him with a sense of profound longing. At least in public.

"Speaking of, I had a torrid dream the other night," she said, crossing one ankle over the other. By the way the sun shone in the sky above it was far from boot weather, but she was hardly uncomfortable. "If I describe it for you in an uncomfortable amount of detail will you put it in the mural?" She did her best to keep the corner of her mouth from twitching, but it was already a lost cause - she could hear the smile creeping into her voice. 

Solas wasn't a natural lounger - that was more of Iron Bull's wheelhouse. There was always something keen and strangely focused about him, but he did his best approximation on the yellowing grass next to her, propped on his elbows and squinting in the afternoon sun. "I promise no such thing, though I will admit to a certain curiousity." When he glanced her way she met his gaze with a lazy, contented grin. It was a look he rarely saw on her, focused as she was on her many duties. "I was in it?"

"Not for a minute."

He made a disapproving sound. "Now I _certainly_ won't paint it. Were you alone in this dream, or did you have company? An acquaintance I might know?"

"Who can truly say they know a man with as many layers as Commander Cullen."

His eyebrows lifted. "Ahh. He is not... unattractive, for what he is, I suppose."

' _For what he is_ ' referred to the human element, she was sure, and if she were human she might tend to agree. It was hard to take issue with a man who could pull off looking regal, yet approachable all at once.

"It was one of those dreams where you've started something up with someone, and you're looking for a place to..." She gestured, a vague hand waving.

He remained silent, reveling in her loss of words. 

"How dare you play innocent," she said with a laugh. "You _must_ have had one of those dreams. Where you can't find a quiet spot, or you keep getting interrupted?"

"I have."

"Then you know how frustrating they can be."

"You mentioned _torrid_. Thus far your dream seems far more unsatisfying than scandalizing. I've seen precious few frescoes devoted to stymied attempts at bedding ex-templars."

"But you have seen one."

"It had very poor anatomy." 

Lavellan turned onto her side, resting her chin in her hand. "You'll be happy to know that Dream Commander was thoughtful, yet not a pushover."

"And the Dream Inquisitor?" Solas lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. The ghost of a smile was still there, she was pleased to see.

"The Dream Inquisitor missed one opportunity, but doesn't plan on missing another." 

She reached across the gap between them to place her hand on his chest, her eyes narrowing as she ran her fingers over the thick fabric there. It was a smokey, inviting sort of look - the opposite of subtle - but she'd been subtle and guarded long enough, and in her brief but illustrious career as Inquisitor she'd learned time after time to strike while the iron was hot.

His smile remained, and only became broader as she pushed herself up and climbed atop him, sliding a leg on either side. She settled herself against his middle and placed her palms against his chest, blocking out the worst of the sun's glare with her body, his own hands finding a natural home at the gentle curve of her waist.

"Will you put this dream in your mural?" 

"I could be convinced," and without pause he leaned up to press a deep, unhurried kiss to her lips, his hand light on her skin where it cradled her cheek. When he pulled away it was only long enough to tuck a strand of loose hair behind her ear before returning for another, even more languid, his tongue gently brushing her lips, and in the heightened, vivid state of dreaming brought about by the sleeping draught it was all she could do to keep silent. If she had any doubts that this Solas was the real one, they were put to rest by the familiar taste of him, by the way his hands so readily kneaded her waist, by the sound of his low, close breathing.

Her hips, she was pleased to feel, aligned with his own, and when she moved against him he made a surprised sound - one she'd yet to hear from him in all their travels together - one she found most encouraging. She licked her bottom lip and rolled her body against him again, but this time he was ready, and took a deep breath, his smile fading into something more determined. 

He settled back against the grass, keeping his hands on hips which refused to stay still, coaxing small, breathy sounds from him, and when he pushed upwards, she could plainly feel the effect she'd had on him. Then, in one easy movement his hands gripped her waist and rolled her over, the nearby treeline blurring as they traded places. His weight become a pleasant pressure against her body, pinning her against the grass. She made herself at home in his shadow, wrapping her arms about his neck and sliding a leg over one of his own, and when she shifted against him he responded in kind, their bodies moving together in a scene she'd often played out in her mind at night, alone in Skyhold's tallest tower.

Her lips found his again, softly at first, but when he caught a handful of her hair and wound his fingers through it, leaning into the kiss, she shed any remaining hesitation and pulled him towards her, pinning him right back. When one kiss ended her mouth sought his out again, hands clutching at his back, her own arching beneath him, only...

There was something looking at her. 

Something orange and moving just out of the corner of her eye. 

Lavellan tipped her head back, peering at a faded figure with soft edges, silently perched on a rock. 

"Solas?"

His reply was distracted, unfocused, nestled as he was against the warm curve of her neck. "Vhenan," he managed.

"We have company," she whispered against his ear, and the three words together seemed to get his attention. He lifted his head, and Lavellan watched the play of emotions across his features as he noticed the looming spirit for the first time. Surprise, then curiousity. No embarrassment, but that was to be expected. 

"Spirits are attracted to strong pulls of emotion," he whispered, his mouth just next to her ear, and even with the spectator the act was enough to pull a sharp breath from her. "It... likely means no harm."

Together they watched the spirit, and it, in turn, watched them back, its posture keen, if such a thing could be said of a creature of shifting light and colour. She lifted herself onto her elbow, twisting around to get a better look. Solas stayed where we was, still atop her, but giving her enough space to better inspect their new friend. 

"Could we ask it to give us twenty minutes?" She had no idea if spirits operated within her concept of time, but it was worth a shot.

Solas sat up, dusting dried grass from his hands, and her hands only reached for him a moment before she schooled them back into place, resting across one another on her chest. He cleared his throat and addressed the being in low, pleasant tones in an elvish she could only grasp slivers and fragments of.

The spirit tilted its head, peering at the two of them, but remained where it was. When it shimmied closer on the rock, shuffling forward the best a spirit could, Solas sighed. It was nothing if not persistent.

Still on her back, hair in a state of disarray, Lavellan bit at her lip and looked elsewhere. At the treeline, at the distant snowy peaks - anywhere but at the curious spirit, which seemed innocuous enough, almost endearing in its eagerness, but was doing a spectacular job of taking the wind from their sails. 

"Would you like to come to my room," she said to Solas, her voice barely audible, as if to avoid offending the spirit.

"I would," he answered in a tone that echoed her own.

She sat up and ran a hand through her hair. The grass was still just as soft, the sun still as inviting in the quiet glade, but to have romantic onlookers in this world as well as the waking was simply too much for now. She had plans for her friend, her new love, and none of them included being studied. 

"Perhaps another time," she muttered to the spirit, and when she turned to Solas he was standing, a hand offered to help her up. Except that when she slipped her hand into his, he gave it a small squeeze and, sleeping draught or not, Lavellan woke.

Unlike the afternoon light in their shared dream, it was dawn at Skyhold, the morning light flooding into her room and casting a warm glow on the bottom of her bed. A large, warm bed noticeably absent of any disheveled looking hedge mages.

The invitation had been to join her in her room, but waiting simply wasn't an option. She kicked aside her sheets and climbed out of bed, pausing only long enough to pull on a simple tunic and last night's leggings before starting for the door. Once outside, she leapt down the first few stairs, and took the rest at an irresponsible pace. 

Down the tower she went, bare feet thudding against wood and padding against stone until she reached the lower door, which she pushed open, creaking on ancient hinges as it obliged.

Solas stood on the far side of the hall, looking as rumpled as she felt, a determined knit to his brow.

Despite the spirit's best efforts to quell that particular fire, she was still burning as she started for him, striding over the flagstones with as much haste as she could manage.

"Inquisitor!" 

Lavellan froze, her body tense, her hands balling at her sides. Commander Cullen, fully dressed and seemingly unaware of the tableau he'd stepped into (or the very presence of Solas) nodded a morning greeting. If he was surprised at all by her mussed appearance he refrained from saying as much.

"Good morning, Cullen," she managed, and behind the commander's broad shoulder she watched as Solas lurched to a stop of his own, his hand just catching the edge of the dining table.

"Good timing, Inquisitor. We just received a report about the missing patrol from last night." He looked up from a scrawled letter, his eyes bright despite the early hour. Ordinarily she would've been awash with appreciation - for his dedication, his sense of duty - but her skin prickled as Cullen looked at her with eyes full of expectation.

"Oh. Yes. Of course." She was on fire, every part of her howling to be touched, needing to be beneath him, on top of him, to cling to whatever she could reach and she was going to need to fill out a report. 

Admittedly an important report, one where time was of the essence, but that fact alone did little to soothe a flaming heart.

She chanced a look at Solas, who was rubbing a hand across his mouth, pacing by the dining table. He wasn't wearing his necklace, she noted, nor his belt. Indeed, like her, it looked as though he'd rolled from bed and pulled on the nearest article of clothing before heading straight for the main hall. It was all she could do not to duck under Cullen's arm and make a run for him.

"Leliana will join us in the war room in a moment, she's gone to the kitchen to see about a pot of coffee - we have quite a bit of ground to cover."

As Cullen scanned the report in his hand Lavellan took the opportunity to shoot Solas a look that, she hoped, conveyed the scorching need to have his mouth on her, paired with a plaintive, selfish hope to be saved from hours of bureaucracy. 

"I forget, was it you who didn't like coffee?" 

Lavellan swallowed, and when she replied her voice broke on the first word. "I'll... yes. I mean no, coffee would be perfect."

Cullen continued, ambling towards the door to the war room as he spoke, and Lavellan found her dutiful, traitorous feet following suit - at least they seemed to have a sense of decorum about them. She cast a final look across the room, brows pushed together in apology, and felt her heart sink as acknowledgement settled on his features and he turned for the stairs. 

She would have to make it up to him. Soon.

**Author's Note:**

> That spirit just wants to peep some smooches. And I should've just made every post on here a series, seeing as they're all the same romantically frustrated Solas/Lavellan.


End file.
